


Soft silver hair - Vincent

by goddamnitaisha



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Gen, safer sephiroth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-26
Updated: 2014-10-26
Packaged: 2018-02-22 17:12:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2515442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goddamnitaisha/pseuds/goddamnitaisha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After defeating Safer Sephiroth, Vincent approaches to check if the god-creature is really dead. He touches Sephiroth's hair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Soft silver hair - Vincent

Safer Sephiroth fell from the heavens and crashed to the frozen soil of the Northern Crater. The God looked broken: It’s holy metal was bend into an oval. Several of its wings had broken. One of them was bend in a way it shouldn’t bend. Feathers scattered around them like snowflakes.

When Tifa rushed to Cloud, Vincent remained standing. He didn’t count it unlikely that Sephiroth would rise again. Cerberus remained in his hand, and directed at the villain. He glanced over his red collar to the two youngsters at his side, they would live. Vincent then walked forward. The stones crisped like snow under his pointed shoes. 

Sephiroth didn’t move.

Vincent approached the bulky creature. One wing flapped and he aimed his gun at it. Then he glanced at the face - the creature still had a face, it had been human, it had been his …

The beauty near-dead Sephiroth radiated, matched that of Lucrecia death-like sleep. The SOLDIER lay on his side, his hair a ever-smooth curtain around his form. 

Vincent knelt beside him, careful not to step on the long hair: Lucrecia disliked that.

 _Just like his mother,_ Vincent didn’t know if he had whispered the words or thought them, but the creature reacted to those.

A shudder went through the angel’s form. 

Vincent Valentine put his claw on Sephiroth’s throat.  
No heartbeat.

It, no, _he_ was dead. 

The ex-Turk wanted to pull his claw-hand back, but his fingertips remained connected to the soft skin. He trailed them over the cheek, unintentionally drawing four lines over the temple, his forehead.

He brushed the impossibly smooth silver hair, with the gentleness of touching a baby. He felt almost  _scared_ to touch one so fragile and breakable. But they had already broken him, the real Sephiroth, and killed him. 

Feathers rustled.

Vincent looked to the side: Sephiroth lift his one, good arm. It was bruised and cut and looked frighteningly human in its injuries.

Vincent immediately pressed the barrel of his gun against Sephiroth’s forehead. His finger jumped onto the trigger.

The boy didn’t open his eyes. Rather, the child clasped his hand over Vincent’s claw, keeping it against the side of his face. He pressed hard with the little strength he had left. Their fingers intertwined. There were strands of hair between their palms. The Turk was warm from fighting, wasn’t human. Sephiroth’s face and hand were even colder - and he looked less human.

Yet a shudder ran through the fallen man’s form, the naked torso expanding as he sucked in breath. Sudden tears appeared in his eyes. The water rolled over the bridge of his nose and over his temple. Where the droplets hit the ground, they painted the soil a darker shade.

"I’ll try again," he whispered. Every word was ragged - probably from Tifa’s punches on his lungs that had broken his ribs. Sephiroth spoke slowly: "I… won’t fail."

Vincent’s throat felt thick. He couldn’t swallow. His finger slipped from the trigger, to the metal that covered the trigger.  _You never disappointed me._

"I shall await you, Sephiroth."


End file.
